Duck hunting tradition continues on Swan Lake

NICOLLET, Minn.—To secure a good spot in the bulrushes, the duck men pushed their boats into famed Swan Lake before dawn.

Under a brilliant fall Milky Way, some had slept outdoors at boat ramps. Others decamped from private hunting shacks at landmarks such as Hackberry Point, Poor Farm Bay and the Hogsback. On a frosty morning, they threw out decoys among the restless prattle of blue-winged teal, redheads and coots.

The duck men of Swan Lake were readying for another Minnesota duck opener, even though shooting hours didn't begin until 9 a.m.

At 9:01 in South Bay, Mike Hunziker, 61, of Lakeville, and his pals were ensconced in the bulrushes, guns ready. It has been this way since they were teenagers.

"Last year, we opened up and the teal were flying in swarms, they were just everywhere," gushed Hunziker, a retired Navy helicopter and FedEx pilot. His old friend Lee Carlstrom and his hunting partner Larry Lagason, both of Mankato, were hidden in the rushes across the bay. Before them lay a spread of mallard and Canada goose decoys.

Unfortunately, it was a bluebird morning—not quite ducky weather.

After 20 minutes with no ducks in sight, Hunziker couldn't resist razzing his recently retired friend.

"Hot spot you've picked here, buddy," yelled Hunziker to Carlstrom.

"Shells cost a lot of money these days. It's a good spot if you're on a fixed income," Carlstrom fired back.

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It turned out all the duck men of Swan Lake were hunkered down for a slow morning of duck hunting, an unusual twist for this foot-deep waterfowl haven northwest of Mankato.

At 10,000 acres, Swan Lake is a sprawling complex of bays and channels. It is Minnesota's version of the Louisiana Cajun lowlands without the canoe-like pirogues and thick accents. Generations of Minnesota men have hunted ducks here, going back to the market-hunting days when the state supplied wildfowl meat for Chicago and big eastern cities.

Hunziker was 15 when his Uncle Jack first took him duck hunting on Swan Lake. Hunziker's father, a golfer, never put a shotgun in his son's hands, but Uncle Jack introduced the young boy to the waterfowling craft in the 1950s and '60s at a famed duck shack known as The Chapel.

"It was such an awesome place," Hunziker recalled wistfully. "You always remember things like that as a kid, that perhaps things were better back then. But there weren't near the hunters on the lake then as there are now."

Twenty years ago, aging Uncle Jack gave him a tip: a duck shack was for sale, a rare opportunity on Swan Lake. So Hunziker, Carlstrom and their friend Joe Fogle, a Catholic priest, bought it. They fixed it up and today it is their fraternal shrine to duck hunting, festooned with stuffed dead birds, old decoys, sepia-toned hunting pictures and a few girly posters.

Father Fogle, a duck-hunting enthusiast, rarely makes it for the opener because fall is a busy time for his parishioners. He called last week to say he was booked.

"It's either marrying or burying," Hunziker said. "Poor Father Joe—he often has his opener plans shattered by such events."

When they're not hunting, Hunziker and Carlstrom are beating the drum for conservation around Swan Lake. They're members of two local groups, the Nicollet Conservation Club and the Swan Lake Area Wildlife Association, which have been instrumental in habitat and land acquisition projects. Both groups raise hundreds of thousands of dollars through banquets and donations.

"We're really involved in trying to improve habitat around the lake," Hunziker said. "It's very important for the lake's future."

Several years ago, Swan Lake was drained by the Department of Natural Resources to rid it of bullheads and bottom-mucking carp. When "de-watering" didn't rid the lake of the pesky carp, the DNR applied a fish-killing chemical called rotenone; that spring, heaps of dead fish were piled along the shorelines and the duck men of Swan Lake cheered.

Today, the lake is rid of carp, and wild celery, hardstem bulrush and other aquatic plants are thriving again. But for some inexplicable reason, some important duck plants were absent from the lake on this day—namely sago pondweed—and that might explain the lack of ducks.

By midmorning, Hunziker had fired once and downed a single blue-winged teal. Few other shots could be heard around the lake, and by noon, glum-faced duck men, riding in boats covered with elaborate grass blinds, were hauling in their decoys.

Back at the hunting shack, Hunziker and his pals mused over the crisis on Wall Street and the importance of hard assets—gold, wine or airplanes?—that might make good investments.

"Shotgun shells," piped up Carlstrom. "I'm going to horde them and wait until the price goes up and then make a bundle."

"If our luck continues like today," Hunziker said, "you will have saved enough for a lifetime."